


Well Remembered Night

by Snowfilly1



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens TV
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley's Hair (Good Omens), Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: 'Love you,' Crowley muttered, as that was all he could focus on at the moment. Safety and grace. He stretched. Felt the new weight of his hair. 'Braiding again, were you?'A stormy winter's evening and a quiet, intimate moment for them both.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 134
Collections: Week 14: Let me braid your hair





	Well Remembered Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Moony Mistress (moonymistress)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymistress/gifts).



> Happy birthday Moony! Consider this a late gift, and a thank you for ongoing group wrangling and being an awesome person. 
> 
> Written for the Ineffable Husbands FB group prompt 'let me braid your hair.'
> 
> The title is from Sir Walter Scott's poem 'To a Lock of Hair.'
> 
> Soft fic. Very soft fic. Barely mentioned and loving sex scene.

'Come here, dear.'

Crowley twisted himself into a slightly more comfortable position and wriggled back, resting against Aziraphale's legs. 'We need to get a better carpet, angel.'

'You chose it, remember?' 

Butterfly light, Aziraphale's hands landed on his shoulders. Fingers curled under the edge of his shirt, tracing across his collarbones. 

'Nope.' He leant back further, let his eyes fall half shut. The coldness of Aziraphale's wedding ring dragged against his bare skin. 'You were walking round that shop with your sleeves rolled up and no tie. How was I meant to concentrate on carpets?'

He was fairly sure that Aziraphale was pulling his 'really, Crowley?' face but as he couldn't see him, he decided to ignore it. It was an easier option than trying to find words while Aziraphale was holding him like that.

Crowley closed his eyes and let himself drift. Aziraphale's voice was sea-soft, summer warm, and it didn't matter what he was saying. A strange and narrow world for a demon to be at home in; a winter storm lashing the windows but muffled down to softness by the thick walls, a soft carpet, coffee scent curling around them both, and above all, the warmth of Aziraphale wrapped around him. 

No need to stay engaged with the world while it was so safe. He fell asleep to Aziraphale massaging his shoulders. 

He slipped back into wakefulness a timeless expanse later. It was dark outside; the room now lit by some small lamps that went out of their way to not flicker in any way reminiscent of fire and there was a blanket wrapped over him. 

On the sofa, Aziraphale half vocalised a greeting. There was a rustle as he laid his book down. 

'Love you,' Crowley muttered, as that was all he could focus on at the moment. Safety and grace. He stretched. Felt the new weight of his hair. 'Braiding again, were you?'

'You looked like you were enjoying it.' 

Crowley wondered about denying it. Settled for 'it was nice. Gotta mirror?'

'You'll have to move off my legs if you want me to get it.'

'Nah.'

Aziraphale pushed him forward, got to his feet and reached down. 'Come to bed. It's warm there, and you can see your hair on the way in.'

'Tempting me?' Crowley grasped the offered hand and let Aziraphale pull him up, feeling for a brief second how much stronger the angel was.

Aziraphale tugged him in front the mirror, stood holding his hand as he looked. 'It's called a fishtail, that one. It was easier without you wriggling. You look beautiful.'

He kissed Aziraphale in response, finding gestures easier than words as he always had done. He'd spent a few thousand years using nothing else, after all. 

'Bed?' Aziraphale made it a question, as though Crowley had any hope of denying him. 

They made love in the dark and the warm; Aziraphale's voice a hymn of praise, an adoration of a demon who writhed underneath him. 

'Have you wrecked my hair?' Crowley asked softly, a while later. He was lying wrapped in Aziraphale's arms and they'd pulled a blanket over themselves, both exhausted, neither wanting to sleep yet. 

'I can always redo it if you want.' Aziraphale dragged a hand across his cheekbone, found the ends of his hair and started twisting them. 'I like doing it.'

'Mmm. Do you remember the first time you did?'

He didn't, at first; Crowley watched him think for a moment. Saw the recognition. 

'That was a long while ago.'

'Yeah. 'Fore I changed my name,' and Crowley stretched, almost unsettled for a moment. It was one of his stronger memories, standing there in black robes, nose full of the scent of panic and fear, animals bellowing until even his head ached. And the dark dampness of the Ark, where he'd shivered and hid and hoped, and eventually Aziraphale had found him. 

'You looked wretched that day,' the angel remarked.

'I know.' He'd felt it as well. Aziraphale had brought him fresh water to drink, and made some light for him, and eventually offered him a hair brush and a face cloth. Aziraphale had watched him, and then helped him, and finally said 'would you like me to redo that plait for you?' Cold, seasick, not wanting his only company to leave, he'd nodded and found himself sat in front of Aziraphale before he could blink. 

'I'd never done that before. Touched anyone's hair, let alone plait it.' Aziraphale pulled him closer, kissed him. 'I wanted to do this then, you know.'

He did. He let himself start drifting again, completely safe and content. 'This is better now.'

'Much better, my dear. Sleep well.'

He could feel Aziraphale stroking his hair as he eased into sleep. Heard 'Love you, Crowley.'


End file.
